


Asunder

by Fictionalsideblog



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Charmie - Fandom
Genre: AU, Awkward Flirting, Bad Decisions, Comments welcomed, Emotional Affair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Decisions, Just bros but not really though, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Works of Fiction, stupid boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-17 09:04:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16513355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionalsideblog/pseuds/Fictionalsideblog
Summary: When you casually move into the guest house of your just casual totally platonic bro, what do you do with all that tension though?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rainbowdazzle](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rainbowdazzle).



> Welcome to whatever this is. Fictional works are indeed fictional, any and all resemblance to anyone anywhere isn't accidental but it is without malice or ill intent. (unbeta'd so any and all hilarious mistakes are mine)

He wasn't naïve, _or_ stupid. He was just... younger than everyone around him, currently. That led to a sometimes patronising response to his presence; the head pats, the smug smiles, which would be fine, expected even, in the industry he was a part of now, he was getting used to it. Mistaking his age for idiocy. 

But...From people a _little_ more than a decade older than him, it was sometimes too jarring to accept. 

He understood why they – well, why _she_ did it.  

It was safer this way.  

Safer to create that distance, no matter how artificial or down right strange the comparison to their toddler children. Safer for her to _allow_ whatever this was, to continue without having to ask too many questions. 

It's not like he took it all on the chin, after all there was only so much someone could take before they broke. And sometimes that street-smart New Yorker came out, and shocked the genteel, laid back table of California expats enjoying too much expensive wine after a barely touched dinner. As was the custom to keep the women thin, and the men mellow.    

Mid conversation about the ups and downs of romantic love, the topic got turned to Timothée, as much as he wanted to the ground to swallow him whole at their careful glances, and genderless questions, he let it all slide because looking to Armie, and the shy, almost mocking smile they would share said enough. 

"But you're just so young, _God_ , so young I can't _even_ believe -" 

"Didn't you get married when he was my age?" He would counter, glancing to his only real friend at any given table. Their posse would laugh and cajole, and agree with him that, my GOD they WERE so YOUNG.  

Sure, she wouldn't laugh as authentically, because the sting was almost at her expense, even if it was a small one. His age didn't mean shit, he was plenty aware of how young he was, but he was also very aware that he was good at his job, regardless of his age. And besides all of that, they had been his age once too, and it didn't seem to be an issue for them to have found perfect, romantic love. So why was it for him? 

Oh right, because _maybe_ they knew, _his_ perfect romantic love, was once hers. 

Maybe. 

Or maybe not, but that didn't stop his feelings, as much as he wished they would just disappear, because things would so much easier if they did. He was living in their house, filming other projects off and on but when in LA it had somehow become _this thing_ ; that it was unspoken for him to just book it from the airport to the mansion (no matter how much they argue that it's not, it's a fucking mansion), and to hang out with him as much as humanly possible. 

He had plenty of friends, he was a social guy, everyone remarked how friendly he was. He liked people, in general, and liked being out and about even more so. But, with his friends back home it was different. None of them left him with an indescribable itch to see and talk to every single day. None he thought of in the ways he thought of Armie, ways he had no right thinking of a married co-worker.  

And yet.  

There he was knee deep in six kinds of fantasies. 

 

*** 

 

Getting high under the night's sky sporadically was one of his favourite things; New York was too bright to see any real stars, but in certain parts of California, you could see just enough to make you feel significantly insignificant. Getting to feel that sense of awe and wonder, cotton mouthed and giddy with his favourite guy?  

Well, that was just the best.  

With an empty house for once, nothing but the sound of one of Tim's mellowed playlists floating from the Bluetooth speaker on the table by the pool, the quiet lapping of water, and the peaceful, comfortable silence only broken by soft conversation, giggles and kicks. They laid next to each other on a double sun lounger. He wasn't allowed to get high in his own house, so this was the spot. Tim was more than happy to join him, his new project working his brain, and his body into overload, and he had often lamented, how he wished to be back eating pasta to excess in Italy and taking advantage of the odd siesta.  

"Naps, you miss naps. I mean it wasn't so long ago you were still being put down for naps, so -" That earned Armie a kick from a bony foot, not breaking his smirk in the slightest. If anything, encouraging it.  

"Asshole. Don't tell me you're going to start ragging on my age now too," Tim took a hearty drag of their shared joint. He mused that Armie had more than enough weed for more, but that took away the small intimacy of this act. 

And they thrived on their small intimacies.  

He snatched it back, softly. 

"Nah, I know how much that shit annoys you. I want to say something when they do it but I feel that would only further undermine your standing -" 

"Further undermine," Tim mumbled, before smiling. Armie had reached his philosophical stage of high, "You don't undermine though, why is that?" 

He merely side-eyed him with that same aggravatingly beautiful grin. 

"Dunno, maybe I'm not as dumb as I look after all."  

Another kick, softer this time. 

"What'd I say about that?"  

Armie huffed, rolling his eyes mumbling in mimic to Tim's earlier intonation. 

"I'm not allowed to talk down at myself in your presence." 

Tim cocked his brow, before picking up his wine and giving it a little swirl, because why not. 

"That's right." He added, a little more buzzed, his bones feeling like melted wax.  

"You want me to tell them to cut it the fuck out?" 

He did, and he didn't. Mostly, he didn't care, but it was touching to know Armie noticed the little things like this and wanted to help. 

"Nah, I can handle it. Besides, it's their ‘thing’ now." He added, air quotes and all.  

Armie nodded, understanding it all, because they had a variation this conversation before, he thinks, they weren't sober then either. 

Placing Timmy in a box was a safe thing to do for Armie's nearest and dearest.  

Hell, everyone had a box in his life, even him. It's where you fit, it's where they recognised you for who you were to them, and if you attempted to break out of that box, well, resistance was met. Tim seemed to recognise this action for what it was, if those nearest to Armie put Timmy in a certain box, then he was not threat inside that box. 

But, Hell's Kitchen didn't raise no fools, and Timmy could see through their bullshit like glass on a sunny day, he'd sit in the box when it suited him, but that didn't mean he had to stay there.  

He'd gotten lost in thought, enough to notice when he looked up Armie had his eyes on him, locked in that hooded, lazy gaze that he loved so much. He only looked up at the taller man when he could feel his eyes on him, the skin at the back of his neck tingling. His Armie Sense, as he called it internally. 

"What? 

"Nothin'." 

"Bullshit nothing, what? Do I have something on my face?" 

Armie would laugh then, before softly reaching out and mock slapping his cheek. 

"There, you did just now." 

It would earn him another kick, and he was just fine with that too. 

This is what they did, the sea-saw of little things that added up to big things. The too-long glances, that led to too-long touches, that led down a path neither of them intended on going, but one that was starting to get worn down they had treaded it so many times now. 

Armie was absently looking at his mouth again, zoned out but zoned in on that wet, plump, pink lower lip. He knew what those kisses felt like, _tasted_ like, the eagerness, the roughness, the way just being kissed by that mouth made his insides tumble in ways he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before or since. But then he looked to the brunet's eyes and saw the same lust in them that he was sure pooled in his own.  

And that, as always, was where the line was. 

He knew it, Tim knew it, and like clockwork, when Armie leaned back, feigning interest in his beer bottle label, Tim broke the silence with a cough, before shifting from his seat, to walk back into the kitchen. 

Panic set in for Armie, was it something he did? Or said? Or, as he really suspected... Something he didn't do? Logically he knew this couldn’t happen, beyond that one, drunken slip up, they both knew it was just impossible.  

Pulling himself up off the lounger, took some effort – his brain not working so fast, his legs slower still. But he got to the dimly lit kitchen to find Tim leaning on his elbows over the kitchen island taking deep breaths. 

"You okay?" Armie asked in a whisper, almost afraid of breaking whatever this was between them when they were alone. 

Before he had a chance to continue his inquiry, Timmy's lips were on his.  

Frantic energy surrounded them both suddenly, he didn‘t know what to do with his hands, they felt like led, his chest felt crushed -  it hurt to breathe, but he had to breathe, they both did, because it felt like in those few seconds both their hearts stopped.  

Tim kissed him like he had always kissed him, from that first time in the haze of a rehearsal to the last time, in between salty tears. Always the same, with that same unabashed need, the want that Armie could feel right down to his toes. The kind of kiss that made his spine tingle and his fingertips burn with the need to touch. But Tim pulled back before he did, nestling his head in the crook of Armie's neck. 

"Sorry." He whispered, his voice low and deep, arousal evident, even if he wasn't pressed up against him. "I know it's wrong to … to _do_ this."   
 

" _Tim_..." Armie attempted, with no clear plan on where to take the conversation. Too distracted by how good it felt. 

"I know it's wrong to want you," he added, before making eye contact. Still high, but both of them coming down to the sense of dread that was their reality. The younger man's eyes were rimmed red, and not just with the pot. Armie fucking hated seeing tears there, for any reason, least of all the reason being him. He attempted to touch his face, to bring him closer, but Tim pulled away. 

"No – I …" he moved back toward the sink. "I know okay? And I've tried, man. I … don't _want_ to want you. Do you know how EASY this would be if I didn't?"  

Standing in the kitchen, the soft lights casting everything with a soft glow, the fuzzy feelings in his head adding to the feeling of floating and falling all at once, before looking up into Armie’s eyes.  And there it was again, even in the slow thrumming panic shooting through his body.  A look a little too close, a touch a little too long, a hug a little too tight, but forever brushing it off as something it was, but also something it really wasn't. 

 _It wasn't like that with any of his other friends._  

And here it was no different. Both of them high, soft and pliable, giddy and stupid, he looked into his eyes and saw him do that thing. The thing he liked, the thing that made him grasp the blue shirt Armie wore, in attempt to keep things light, to forget his misstep but as soon as he noticed Armie's eyes flit from his to his lips and back again, slower than normal, with intent. Intent Tim knew he may never act on again. He couldn't help himself. This time, he let go, let the walls crumple, let the guise of their entire existence die just for that minute. And he leaned up, the few inches it took to reach his lips, and he softly, slowly, with a terrified trepidation that tingled under his very tippy toes... and kissed him again.  

This time there wasn‘t that pause from the other man, he felt his arm circle him, pull him closer, their mouths working overtime with soft, hungry kisses so desperate for contact that he swore he’d die if they parted. But part they had to as just when Tim let himself push the taller man against the marble kitchen island they heard the front door – people talking, a commotion that meant they were not longer home alone, no longer safe. Breaking apart instantly, the shame over took him, and by the looks on his kissing companions face, it had over taken him too, where the lust used to live. 

Tim made sure to excuse himself as everyone entered the kitchen, feigning tiredness – a small white lie – he was tired, but not craving sleep. He was tired of whatever this game was. He didn't know the rules, and he had no idea where the goal posts were. It got him questioning looks from Armie’s other half, and his friends, but the man himself knew Tim well enough to know he needed the out. So, he backed him up siting the new job, the role that was starving his body, and his mind currently. Both of which were just spent in the presence of everyone involved. He knew a night of horny, restless sleep awaited him, but anything was better than the suffocation of that kitchen. 

&&& 

He’d thought, more than once, about leaving.  Rejecting the very kind, almost too-kind offer to stay in their home, a thought that at first, excited him to no end – for obvious proximity reasons. But, in the couple of weeks since he had arrived the pressure of the new role, teamed with restricting his diet even more than usual, added into the mix of whatever it was that happened with Armie when they got within touching distance... well it was all a recipe for angst. And he thought going into his 20’s that he’d maybe left that behind him. 

 _Not so much._  

He wanted to chalk it up to being emotionally drained, the new role was testing him in ways he hadn’t been before, and this was without the comfort and familiarity of a co-star that he knew he could lean on heavily when the shit got too much. His new castmates were great, but most of the role, most of the movie rested on his performance, and he was man enough to admit that it was draining. So, he could leave, but the selfish part of his brain screamed no, because he wanted the comfort of a home filled with warmth, filled with him and his things, a place that offered him as much peace as it did panic – a place a hundred times better than an empty hotel room.  

In the days that followed their now awkward encounter, avoidance was the act of protection Tim decided to explore. He was working late, skipping dinners, heading for drinks with some of the crew, anything to avoid being in the house when it was full, anything to avoid pretending that what happened, happened. He'd slipped up, he’d gotten too comfortable, he’d gotten too cozy with his want and slipped up the façade of a friendship only relationship. 

**** 

He slipped through the front door silently, work had let up early, all had been well on set, he was feeling good about what he’d turned in that day, but still wanted nothing more than to pass out for the night. The house was uncharacteristically silent, he prayed he wasn’t about to over hear the vocal stylings of marital bliss beyond any doorways as he passed into the kitchen, dimly lit with just the light over the stove on. He went straight for the fridge, spotted some wrapped cookies, and decided against them, in favor of the jug of water, he needed to clear his head. His new ‘diet’ meant any alcohol, any weed, it all went to his brain quicker because he was hungry all the damn time. 

He was thinking about going back for those cookies when he turned around almost walked smack dab into a wall of Armie. 

 _Topless_. 

...Greaaat.  

“Oh shit - Sorry!”  

He laughed, that low rumble laugh Tim loved, before stepping back.  

“Lost in thought?”  

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, why did it feel like he got caught with his pants down? “Something like that... Guess I’m just tired.” he had time to notice then that Armie was sweating, his hair all askew, his cheeks pink, the sweat making his eyelashes darker - a detail Timmy hates that he notices. Though he wishes that was all he noticed, it was nothing compared to the sweat soaked low-slung sweat pants. 

Nodding Armie makes his way to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water, and offering one to Tim. He gladly accepts. Ignoring as best he can the light illuminating the sweat on his chest, because why, why did he have to notice that. And why did he care, it wasn’t like he hadn’t hung out with him – half naked for three months.  When Armie turned, taking a slug of the water like a dying man in need, Tim cursed the twitch of his dick, willing it to just NOT right now. 

“Haven’t seen you around this past few days, you’re not avoiding us, are you?” 

 _Us_. 

“Nah, I - “yes, yes, he was. “Just a lot on with work and by the time I get back it’s late and -”  

Armie nodded again, replacing the cap on his bottle. Tim still held on to his for dear life. A small barrier between them. 

“I wish you wouldn’t you know – Avoid me.”  

“I’m not.” His lie was weak and they both knew it. 

“Alright, we’re having a dinner party tomorrow night – you … obviously don’t need an invite. But I’m inviting you because I want you there.” Armie looked him up and down, seeing the weight loss, knowing what it was for, but worrying like fuck anyway. “Please?” 

Tim’s internal conflict was giving him indigestion. 

“Armie -” 

“Look … You gonna make me beg now? Fine. _Please_?” he stepped closer, and as much as Tim wish he wouldn’t, he also wished he WOULD, just a few steps and he’d be pinned against the island so deliciously trapped between the wall of marble, and the wall of that man. It was torture. 

“I ...have a date.”  

He didn’t. But he could. There was this one person who had wanted to take him out, see the LA night-life, he could arrange it last minute, hopefully. He said it as an out, but also to see what the reaction might be, this close Armie couldn’t hide from him, no matter how well practiced he was behind those walls of his. 

And there was a reaction, one that lasted a split second and it was gone. If Timmy didn’t know what he was looking for, he might have missed it. But no, that look a little like betrayal, a little shock, teamed with the tiny step backward told him what he needed to know. 

“Oh. I mean that’s great … you didn’t say ... I mean you...” he pushed his lips out in a pout mid nod, as if he was assessing the situation and approved, Timmy knew differently.  

“It’s pretty new -” he lied. 

“Cool... Cool. I mean that’s cool. I guess after then, if you can make it that would still be …" 

“Cool?” Timmy offered and Armie blushed. 

“Yeah. Well, I better hop in the shower I’ m gross.” 

Tim smirked then, looking at his water bottle. 

“Not exactly the word I’d use.” 

Armie stalled then, shifting from one foot to the other, almost as if he wanted to say something, instead Timmy just heard him take a breath.  

“Okay, goodnight.” he replied, overly cheerful, obviously fake, but before Timmy could respond he was gone, out of the kitchen and taking the starts two at a time as was his way. 

With a sigh he resigned himself to another restless night in their guest house.  

Oh, and he _really_ needed a date! 

********** 

 

It wasn’t that Armie was distracted because he was jealous. He wasn’t jealous. He was just worried. Their dinner party, with ten of their ‘closest’ couple friends was in full swing, he’d had a couple of drinks in between courses, they’d let the kids play a little longer than necessary – everyone as always enamoured with their cuteness. But that was before bedtime stories in between the main and dessert. They were long asleep by the time Timmy came through the front door, almost silently, if Armie hadn’t been hyper aware he might have missed it. 

“There he is!” Elizabeth announced in that too overly sweet to be true tone. Everyone welcoming Timmy in, hugs, handshakes, smiles and nods. Armie merely raised his brows in acknowledgement, before taking a healthy gulp of his Martini. 

“There’s stuff in the oven you want?”  

“Nah, thanks we ate. I’m good.” Tim responded as Armie got up from the table, an excuse to not look directly at him, to keep his emotions under control, leaving his glass on the countertop by the sink.  

“Let me fix you a drink, Timmy!” his producer friend Jack offered, and while he was doing that - “just a jack and coke thanks,” Armie refilled his own glass, just as the questions about his obscure date started. 

Great. Just what he needed, a _visual_ of what he’d been up to, enough to come back looking how he did – completely fucked. Or at least it seemed that way, the humidity of LA did things to his curls, alcohol and an underperforming diet had him paler than usual, set against his all black on black outfit including combat boots, well it all just worked. A little too well. He was instantly annoyed at how attractive it found it.                              

      

Another gulp of his too-strong cocktail, had him smiling along with descriptions of ‘we saw a movie, went to a diner down town, nothing fancy, we took a walk, we -” no names, no genders, and he knew though he suspected the others didn’t, exactly what Tim was doing. To escape, Armie found himself by the piano, tinkling softly, the chatter fading in and out from the adjoining room. After a half a song, more aimless than practiced, the small party began requesting to hear Tim play something as he was the ‘professional’ - his wife was nothing if not the master at the backhanded compliment. 

****                                                                                                                

Taking the request good naturedly, he takes his seat beside Armie on the piano bench, both of them play flighting for space, hamming it up for their new audience. Actors were nothing if not attention seekers, but in that moment, he just wanted one person’s attentions. They agreed on a piece they both knew a very choppy Chopin, but the dinner guests smiled their smiles and sipped their drinks, not noticing if a key or two or three was off pace. When he was sure their attentions were focused on other things, and not them - chattering of schools, or fashion or whatever in the fuck people in their early 30’s talked about floated past the music, Tim knew it was safe then to lean in a little closer. As he did Armie hit the wrong key, and Tim forced himself to bite back a smile, before asking, “Do you like this or would you rather something a little more aggressive?”  

The older man smirked. Still not making eye contact, their guest was none the wiser. 

“Are you offering?”  

They both didn’t look up from the keys, focusing on the pace despite drunken fingers, clumsy touches. 

The tone was playful, so why not play along. 

He quick changed the song to Sonatine Bureaucratique _;_ Armie noticed right away of course, his fingers stalling, allowing Tim time to look up and give a smirk all his own. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating. Or was that his cocktails, and Tim’s Jack? 

*** 

The party was still in full swing, chatter over chatter, no one was even looking their way. That's when he felt it. Armie’s foot on his - familiar, Pavlovian at this point. He momentarily lost his place on the keys, but he figured that was the other man’s intention.  

What other intentions he had, he could only pray were the same ones floating through his head at a seductive pace. 

So, he squeezed a little closer on the stool, his thigh flush against thigh, the heat from the larger man was always enough to make his head spin. So, he took his moment of bravery, in a room just off the where his wife was fake laughing her little heart out at something a more important person had said, and he kept playing with one hand, slowly lowering the one closest to his friend, and placing it on his thigh.  

It stalled the other man momentarily, tit for tat, Timmy thought. But it wasn’t only when he moved it lower that he felt what he felt. An instant blush flushed his cheeks at the arousal that ran though him, a side effect of feeling just how hard -  

“Another drink?” Armie announced, standing up so fast it almost knocked him off the stool, and did in fact knock the martini off the piano.  

Everyone stopped what they were doing then, hearing the commotion.  

He could almost hear her eye roll, chastising him for spilling, making a scene and getting it all over his designer shirt. He smiled meekly, before looking at Tim, he was sure the blush was still on his cheek as he took to the stairs to go change and wash up. Whatever bravery Tim thought he had, maybe it was his hunger, maybe it was six drinks while basically starving. But his bravery, and possibly his stupidity, tripled. Wiping his hands on his jeans he mentioned in passing to Nick as he passed the need to wash his hands, no one was paying attention anyway, too many drinks, too many conversations interchanging.  

He took the other exit, to take the same stairs; hoping to find Armie in the guest bathroom, but he wasn’t there though the light was on. So, he did wash his hands, sticky from the spilled drink, and took a quick glance at himself in the mirror – something he rarely did off set any more if he could help it. Not liking what he saw, too skinny, too pale, too scrawny. He knew why. He knew the purpose, but it didn’t help feeling like that awkward fourteen-year-old again when he did. 

Shaking it off, he figured he’d find Armie in his room, and he was right. There he was buried deep in the walk-in closet, a closet basically the size of his New York apartment – filled to bursting with every designer under the damn sun. He tried to not be jealous, he really did.  

He liked it there, it smelled like Armie.  

In the low light, with the alcohol and not much else floating through his veins, he felt emboldened when he saw that familiar longing in his friends' eyes. The lingering looks, from his lips to his eyes, to his torso in fake inspection of the t-shirt. Armie started again, to ramble about how he clung on to his old t-shirts, no matter how much they didn’t fit half the time, or how they grossed out the wife. He’d laugh, bashfully, but then looked again. 

“You should have this one, it’ll never fit me again and I figure it’s probably vintage-cool by now.” He had a real early 90s faded Nirvana tee in hand, the idea of teen Armie in the early 2000s in it made him smile.  

“Besides, “he nudged Tim then. “I spilled shit all over your date shirt, so it’s the least I can do.” he smirked and it made Tim angry and horny all at once. 

“Not my ‘date shirt’ just my shirt I wore on a date -” 

“Speaking of, you could BE vaguer dude?” He smiled but it was obvious there was an edge to his words. Good, Tim thought, he wanted him to wonder.  

“Vague about what?” he began as he started to unbutton his  

“Downstairs,” he continued to fold before looking at Tim then. “Everyone wanted to know who you had a date with and you wouldn’t even give ‘em a gender.” 

 _Ding, Ding, Ding._  

Timmy didn’t want them wondering the gender of his date, but he did want to know if Armie’s curiosity would be piqued. He was glad he was right. At that he whipped off his shirt, trying not to notice if the other man was looking at him without his top on. Half wanting his gaze, half fearing it. He knew he was too skinny now ... not at all appealing.  

Hair messy from the change of shirt he shrugged. But Armie was all but glaring at him now.  

“Whoever it was you just letting everyone mark you up these days?” 

He could have pretended to be baffled, but half the reason why he shrugged off his shirt – visible ribs an all, was because he had hoped the hickey his date left would also catch his eye. 

It did. 

Tim just rolled his eyes.  

“You’re not jealous, are you?” 

Armie scoffed at that, stopped folding though. Nostrils flared, that wasn’t a good sign. 

This time Tim challenged him, he held his gaze, until his eyes burned, desperate to blink – so he did.  

“Armie,” he whispered, feeling so bold it almost made him want to jump out of his skin. “I was wondering something …" 

It was like Timmy could see the thoughts in his friend’s mind, the almost panic at their close proximity, the anger he was feeling – the possessiveness he had no right to feel. Except he had every right, Timmy would grant him every right. 

“Does your wife know how hard I get you?” 

Tim wasn’t sure how it happened but one second, he was looking up, challenging the guy, and the next his hand was wrapped softly but firmly around his neck, as he was backed up against the door.  

 _Speaking of hard..._  

“Don’t ...okay?” He could hear the fear this time, and he knew it was real for Armie. His feelings and his fear in equal measure. He wasn’t raised like Tim was, there was no artistic freedom, sexual acceptance, no ease of parenting, but he was sick and tired of dancing around what he _knew_ to be mutual. What he knew to be real since their last night in fuckin’ Crema. 

“I won’t.” Timmy looked up at his mouth. “But you should.”  

More hesitation. Tim might have understood it, but it still pissed him off. So...  

“ _York_.” 

Armie narrowed his brows. 

“My date, his name was -” 

“The annoying as fuck ... _producer guy_ from -” 

“Yeah.” Timmy rolled his eyes, thinking it didn’t have the effect he’d hoped for, but then again Armie was always surprising him because the next thing he knew he was being overwhelmed by that expensive cologne, and those lips he loved so much were brushing his, roughly – his hands gripping his newly gifted vintage tee. He wanted so desperately to sink into the kiss he had waited too long for, Armie’s grip got tighter, and Tim could do not much else but hold on tight too. It was like, if they let go, they’d both float off into space, never to be seen again. It just _that_ good. Too good.

But just as he felt himself relax into the kiss, they heard the bedroom door, causing Armie to jump back about a foot, deeper into the closet. 

The metaphorical irony was not lost... as his wife rounded the door. 

“What is taking so long, you two? Jesus, people are leaving, Armie.” she looked, narrowing her eyes to him and then her husband. “Why are you wearing his t-shirt?” she asked, confused. 

“I -” 

“Look, you’re always complaining about them, so hey, I may as well pass them on to someone who’ll appreciate them, it’s really NOT that big of a deal.” he sighed. But it was because his adrenalin was pumping and he was raising his voice without it being necessary, so obviously it was then made into a bigger deal that it could have been had he just gone with the flow. 

But no, and so, the bickering started - Timmy excused himself, feigning tired, to cut down the stairs, and out the back way. He really wasn’t up to dealing with their drunk friends with his head spinning from the kiss, and from the hunger. Instead he forced himself inside the guest house, one last, stupidly longing took to the window of the walk-in, taking a small comfort as he got into the too big- too empty bed, that at least this time Armie made the move. Sure, he was pushed, but still. It gave him what he scarce had before.  

A tiny glimmer of hope, that this, all this wasn’t _just_ in his own head. 

******


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Armie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say sorry for the delay but this is just who I am as a person, and words take time. Also I lied, this is gonna be three chapters because I'm a wordy bitch with no self control. But thank you thank you for all the lovely messages which are LIFE and the kudos and if you've pimped this out on Tumblr, also thank you! ;) And if you like this one come tell me why! :D 
> 
> As always fictional fiction is fictional.

Armie felt as if his heart, his soul, and his face would combust, picking a silent argument with his wife wasn’t the best way to deal with his obvious guilt, but it worked. She no longer looked suspicious but just pissed off. A night of restlessness waited for him, the airs of an angry woman next to him and the desperate desire to just try somehow – some way – to _fix_ things. 

Fix what?  He had no idea, but as everything stood, it stood unsteady, ready to shatter at his feet at any second. 

His anxiety rose as the hours ticked on. 

It had been this way, this throbbing in the back of his brain since Crema. The production, the people, the experience of complete and utter artistic freedom for the first time in his life, surrounded with people so open so … everything he wasn’t used to. It had spun him around and if he’s honest, he never really recovered. 

Inviting Tim to stay had been an impulse of his, he hadn’t even asked if it worked for everyone else. Didn't even ask Elizabeth if she minded. He had just seen him in Berlin after so long and it was almost instinct to have him be closer, anyway possible for as long as possible. Admittedly he didn’t dig too deep as to why... It had been yet another argument his wife shucked off eventually and welcomed him with a fixed smile and another fucking cake. And for the most part things had been chill, they had been friendly, and normal and things... were fine. They’d all go for dinners in big groups, never really alone much, by accidental design or not... but then again, he and Liz were never alone either, always a group activity or an event of some kind rather than the four walls of the house with just themselves and their thoughts. So, the fact that he and Tim never got time alone much didn’t faze him; until it did, until finally alone they got high that night on the terrace, and the kiss... the kiss that he couldn’t stop thinking about – the kiss he couldn’t stop wanting to recreate in every corner of his house. 

The kiss that he did recreate in his fucking closet like the walking fucking cliché he was becoming. 

After the mess that was dinner party night, aka _The Fucking Closet Kiss_ as he was referring to it in his head, he hadn’t seen much of Timmy. He knew work was kicking his ass, ever shrinking as it was.

It didn’t help that he himself had auditions, and the house was empty since his wife had taken the kids to Texas for a couple of days, or the week, or whatever her whim decided. It had left him with too much time inside his own head to over-think and regret. 

 The annoying and most difficult thing to accept was that he didn’t regret the kisses, not here nor in Crema – or anything else they did that night. And that, for a guy like him, was what twisted his gut the most. He didn’t regret his actions but he regretted the pain those actions caused. A shit feeling none the less.

Because surely, he wasn’t _that guy,_ right? How many clichés was he willing to fall into, exactly? 

The Raised Republican Repressed Closet Case? Or the Guy Cheating on His Wife with A Twenty-One-Year-Old.

Armie didn’t see him for three days. The lights were on and off in the Guest House, he saw folded laundry that he’d done and left behind, so he knew he was around. He was just being super stealth at avoiding him it seemed. The fact broke his heart just a little bit more. By the fourth night, Armie was relived to descend his office to see Timmy standing in the kitchen, leaning over the island, reading whatever he was reading on his phone.

“Hey.” he tried for casual, but Tim looked up and Armie swore he rolled his eyes. 

“Hey. I can get out of your way just - “

“You know you don’t have to, in fact I was just gonna go get some take out for dinner – if you want?”

Please want, he thought, _please just talk to me._

Armie saw the hesitation, before a silent sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“Sure, just lemme finish this email and I -”

“‘Course, I’ll meet you in the car?”

Another nod, and Armie was practically elated. 

Hoodie on he watched him slip into the passenger side of the car, seat belt on, a tentative smile too. 

“So, where we eating?”

“I was thinking some In ‘N Out? But if you wanted something different, I'm totally down for that -”

“Nah, sounds good, I … could use a calorie over load being honest....”

“Yeah,” Armie snuck a glance, as they pulled out on to the intersection, “when did they say you can start eating normally again? Surely those scenes are covered first, right?”

Another nod.

“Yeah, but Felix is … different... he wants it all to … to just feel as raw as possible for as long as possible, and if I show up in these scenes like this, then in what’s meant to be a week later in the move look like a doughboy it’s not going to -”

“Okay one even if you _tried_ , you’d never be a dough-boy so stop.” Armie laughed, making him laugh, and he was never so glad to hear a sound in his life.

“Soon though, just another couple of weeks at most, then I think we can ease up.”

Sure, Armie wasn’t thrilled about it, Tim was always thin, but as things stood, he looked down right breakable.  They took the maybe five-minute drive in mostly silence, Tim looking out the window, Armie trying to pretend he wasn’t occasionally looking at Tim. When they pulled up to the fast food place, it was of course packed. Even the drive-through.

“I’ll go in and order, it’ll be quicker -” 

“Nah, I can -”

“No one knows me man, less chance of a thing, besides I’m starving and there’s no way we’re getting fed in the next half hour with this -” he motioned out the window at the lines of cars. 

Okay, true.

A fight about his credit card and an eye roll later, Tim excited the car, card in hand order in mind.

It gave Armie time to take that deep breath he’d been holding since spotting Timmy in the kitchen. They were both avoiding the elephant in the room now, that much was obvious. But he had to decide, was it better this way, to keep on avoiding or did he bring it up. AND if he did, what the fuck exactly was it he was going to say anyway? His big mouth always took over and things came out wrong and started another line of fuckery that is, half the time, not even what he meant to say or do in the first place – thank you, Twitter.

But this, this was different, it was delicate. He didn’t do delicate very well. But the line he was walking with Timmy was one that terrified and excited him in equal measure. He adored the guy on a friendship level, he got Armie in ways that shocked him, no one understood him like Tim did – sometimes wordlessly, it was all just so easy to do and be himself with Tim around. But then there was that other side of it, the side where he was feeling a lot more than bro feels toward the guy, the side where he wanted to push him up against every flat surface pretty much all the time and make him make those little squirmy noises he makes when they touch, or feel his stupidly beautiful almost translucent skin against his, softer than it had any right to be to -

“So, they screwed up the order so extra fries!”

Armie about jumped out of his skin, how long exactly was he in a trance? Tim was back in the car, drinks and food bag in hand, big smile on his face.

“Cool, you wanna go back to the house or -”

“Nah I don’t see enough of LA, find us a view for a minute?”

That he could do, born and almost bred there, he knew all the non-tourist spots for a good view of the city. It would take them another ten minutes of almost silence, but when he pulled up to the view of the city lights.

“New York is still prettier.” he declared with a silly grin, opening up the bag of food, tossing Armie his two double doubles without judgement, and then helping himself to a big bite of his own – with a moan Armie isn’t ashamed to say went straight to his dick.

“Can I turn it on?”

Blink.

“What?”

He looked over, in the dimly lit car and Tim was smirking at him.

“The radio.”

“Oh, sure... yeah.”

“Sorry it’s not soft rock or classical for dinner music -” he added before the tones of Frank Ocean’s ‘Nights’ took over the car. Armie laughed mid bite, enjoying that he didn’t have to put on airs and graces and just chowed down, knowing Tim wouldn’t judge. 

“Fuck I’m starving.” Timmy commented. 

“It’s ending soon, like you said, and we’ll fatten you up.” he countered, or tried to. 

“Mmhmm,” was the response around a big bit of burger. Eating in comfortable silent, gave way to them talking shit - scripts, sports, fucking global warming. They really could just talk out anything and make it interesting, so then why was it when it came to the important shit did Armie freeze up?

Opening his window to let some air in, discarding his wrappers in the bag, attempting to tidy up as he digested, he wanted to use the break in discussion to bring ‘it’ up. But as always chickened out.

As always, Tim was far braver than him.

“What is this, Armie?” He asked, not looking at him now. Instead obsessed with the view in front of them. “You kiss me, you ...let me touch you... but then you freak out and I.” he shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “I just need to know where I stand okay, I just -” he sighed. “We so easily slip back into this,” he motioned between them, “where it’s nice and easy and fine as long as we’re avoiding the truth...” 

Armie nodded.

“And I … can’t. Not anymore.”

“I’ve missed you this past few days, and I know,” his turn to sigh then, really wishing he were smarter. “I have no right to say that, and I know that too, but I did. And I hate this, whatever this tension is this … thing. I hate it. I don’t want to hurt you, Tim. I don’t know much but I know that. And I feel like that’s all I do, is hurt you.” 

“You’re not -”

“How though? You want something I don’t know if I can give you.”

Tim blinked rapidly then, turning the full way to face him.

“And what do I _want_ , exactly?”

Struggling not to sound self-obsessed but not sure what else to say, he held his hands up in defeat.

“Well... me?”

A sound of angry scoffing was all he got as Timmy got out of the car, stalking toward the hood and leaning there, an air of angst radiating off of him.

 _Shit_.

“What? What did I say?”

“You don’t get it do you? Like, at all!” he yelled before catching himself, but they were alone, in a secluded area of Beverly Hills, nothing but them and the view. 

“So, I’m wrong, you don’t want me?”

“I DO!”

“So then -”

“I want us!”

Both like deer in the headlights, Timmy broke eye contact first, clearly still pissed off.

“Tim -”

“Don’t, okay I get it... No.” he took another breath. “ACTUALLY, I don’t. Why’d you invite me here man? To stay with you?”

“I -” 

Tim merely cocked his eyebrows, aggressive, still angry. 

“I … wanted you to … I don’t know... I missed you? I wanted you close? I figured you didn’t know that many people in LA yet so -”

“That it? That the _only_ reason?”

“Well … that was a _few_ reasons...” he argued, softly, earning an eye roll from the curly haired one.

“And what’s with the FaceTime? Huh? Is that too just what, because you’re too lazy to text?” he folded his arms, leaning against the hood before looking at Armie again. “Sometimes I think I understand you so perfectly, like we’re this… in sync thing and then other times...”

Both were silent. The sounds of the city blow, and the crickets in the grass all they heard.

“You make this out to be a new thing, Armie. Like, oh those kisses were so shocking and so unexpected? When _really_ man? Since Crema...”

“Tim Crema was … we were _so_ fucked up. You have to admit that, like my brain was wrung out on you, and everything we did, every barrier we broke, the idea of losing you then -”

“Yeah I remember.” he added, with a pissed off pout. “But you still came into my apartment, you still willingly did ...all that.” Sure, they hadn’t had sex –sex, but hey, it had been the first time Armie had 69’d with a GUY so it was still A Big Fucking Deal. 

They’d made out, and made out, and made out – this time without restriction, this time without cameras, this time with the looming end of their paradise bubble looming over them.

 And so yeah, he caved. For once in his life he caved into that side of him that he kept buried so deep. But Luca found a shovel, and Timmy cracked open that chest. The treasure was that night.  The hell was the goodbye the next morning. Both of them emotionally done, both promising that hey, it was just the rabbit hole of creativity, it was just the goodbye, the fear of the real world without each other... it was a mess to say the least.

He’d zoned out. Blinking back in to face that pain staring him straight in the face.

“I don’t do this okay? At least … I've never _been_ the guy cheats on his fuckin’ wife...” 

Timmy just scoffed again, kicking some stones.

“No, look, I know this isn’t some bullshit _crush_ , some one-sided idea – and you’re... acting like I've _forc_ _ed_ this on you, like I'm forcing you to look at me how you do, to kiss me! Did I force you that night in Crema? Didn’t fuckin’ seem like it!”

He had every right to be pissed, Armie didn’t blame him one bit. 

“God, Tim you never forced ANYTHING!” he had to know that, at least.

“You got to go home and _pretend_ like nothing happened, you got to go play house and have it all be _okay_ ,” he offered softly. And Armie wanted to just hug his pain away, maybe it would help with his own. That burning guilt, stabbing his heart. “I got to go back to New York, _alone_ , and try to figure the fuck out why it felt like my heart had shattered into a million pieces over what, from the outside looked like nothing! But it wasn’t nothing!” he stood up straight then, his cheeks pink, his eyes filled with tears. 

Armie wasn’t a stranger to self-loathing but in that moment, he really fucking hated himself.

“You’re not the guy that cheats on his wife? Newsflash, asshole, all we’ve been DOING has been cheating! Just because we haven’t fucked doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.”

And in that moment, he knew he was right. It wasn’t just drunken fumblings in Crema, it was all of it. The constant texting, and when that wasn’t enough, when he craved to see his face staring back at him, they moved on to FaceTime, constantly.  Daily, sometimes thrice daily. When he thought of something it was Timmy he couldn’t wait to tell, to see, to hear about his day. It went beyond the blowjobs, the hidden kisses, the longing. They’d been in an emotional affair long before he even touched him off-screen.

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Yeah, Jesus Christ.” 

Silence. 

“You really didn’t see it happening huh?” Timmy offered a moment later, in a whisper.

“No... I mean I know we ... crossed that line before but … I just...” he swallowed back tears. He _wasn’t_ going to cry. “I really don’t want to hurt you.  You mean so -”

“Don’t... please don’t gimme the speech.”

“There is no speech, I mean it, you -”

“I know you can’t gimme what I want, Armie. I’m young but I'm not stupid.”

Armie narrowed his brows at the younger man then.

“I know you ...need to be with your family, whatever this is … can’t … go beyond what’s happened. We need to draw the line here.”

Armie’s heart clenched. His brain screaming _‘no_ _no_ _no_ _no_!’ - his gut in knots. And not the fun kind of knots either. 

Why couldn’t he speak?

“I’m heading up to San Francisco for the rest of filming anyway, so it’ll be … easier, I guess. After I go back to New York and -”

“You …"

“It’ll be fine, we’ll be back for press in September and everything will be fine.” Tim added, more upbeat now, standing to look at how Armie mimicked his stance of leaning on the hood. “The line is drawn now and that’s just how it’s gotta be, right?”                             

He hated this, but what was the alternative? Tell him no, this wasn’t how it could be, that they could continue this, continue hurting each other?

“You know it’s not because I don’t want you... or us, right?” he whispered.

Timmy merely nodded.

“I know, I just also know the reality of this …" he motioned between them. “No matter how much you want whatever this could be... you will never choose me.”

Yeah, if Armie could hear his heart break he was sure it sounded like this.

“I -”

“Don’t okay, it’s fine. I have a …" he sighed. “A habit of falling in love with people I shouldn’t.”

Love? Love... _LOVE_.

“Can we go back now?” Timmy asked, pushing a smile as he moved to his side of the car. Armie merely nodded silently, got into the car silently and drove the five or so minutes back to the house in the same silence. Watching him exit the car, and go around back to the guest house he felt the blood leave his face, his head was pounding, his heart was sore, it was never meant to be like _this_ , he thought.

But if he was being honest, it was _always_ meant to be like this.

*******************************

LA traffic was something he loathed, and it always seemed to flare up when you had to be somewhere. He’d had an audition, two meetings and a Skype call, the day Tim was due to leave for San Francisco. He’d spent twenty minutes two minutes from his house in a jam, tempted to just leave the car and make a run for it.  when he got there, he saw the car waiting out front, and he booked it in through the back gates instead of going through the main house, he caught him just as he was shrugging into a jacket.

“Hey! You’re still here, thank god - I …" what was he wanting to say again? He got distracted by the sad smile on Timmy’s face.

“Just about.” he admitted. “But I'm glad you caught me, I just … was gonna leave a note but then... then that seemed lame... but I really – beyond everything else? I just wanted to say thanks for … you know …" he motioned around the room. “And listen, tell Elizabeth thanks too, you know, it was probably weird... and still ...so yeah.” he took a deep breath, that fake smile on his lips again. 

“Can I hug you?” Armie asked, feeling all of five years old. He didn’t want him to leave, he wanted to be able to tell him that things could change if he stayed, but he wasn’t sure how true that was and he didn’t want to hurt him again. Beyond anything else, being so unsure of what he DID want, he knew in his heart that was the one thing he couldn’t stand.

Timmy just smiled and smashed himself into Armie’s chest like usual, allowing him to snake his arms around him, pulling him close. He smelled good, comfortable and clean and Armie desperately didn’t want to let go, so he didn’t; but Tim did.

“I gotta go there’s a car … I don’t like to keep people waiting.”

No, he didn’t. 

“I …” don’t tell him you’ll miss him, that’s _pointless_. “We’re still friends, right?”

With a nod Tim grabbed his suitcase and his backpack.

“What else would we be?”

Having his heart break twice in as many weeks really should come with a health warning.

***************

It was three weeks of hell. Three weeks of broken sleep, arguments with the family, withdrawing himself, throwing himself into his work, rarely leaving his office if he could help it. He'd never read so many scripts half-heartedly. They weren’t talking, no face time, rarely texting and for the first time since he’d met him, there was a Tim shaped hole in his life, and he fucking hated it.

They'd texted a few times, but there was always that sense of holding back, their relaxed state of shooting the shit, flirting a little, bantering until they giggled... it was gone now. 

Every time she challenged his mood, or moodiness, he’d get defensive. She knew he was missing Timmy, what she didn’t fully understand – and how could she – was just how deep the longing went, or why really. Mid-argument he thought about telling her, confessing why he was how he was, admitting that his almost-boyfriend, almost-lover basically broke up with him and he was heart sick, so could she maybe cut him some slack?

What an asshole move that would be, he knew. But still the fantasy of being completely honest was always there, lingering in the back of his mind as they ate dinner, or went to a party with friends and posed like the happiest couple ever, when inside he was dying. 

It was after midnight when his phone started buzzing, ordinarily he’d have ignored it, but something told him not to. 

“’lo?”

“Mr. Hammer? This is Celia I’m one of the producers on -” he sat up then, his heart racing. Why was a producer from Tim’s film calling her?

He was groggy but it rang a bell.

“Hey, Celia, I remember you... what’s up?” 

She proceeded to tell him, Tim was in hospital and that he, Armie was listed as his contact in California. His heart stopped. He had too many questions. 

“Is he... I mean he’s okay?”

“For now, but he’s in hospital -” she listed off which one and what ward, and filling him in briefly – but by the time she was done, he was out of bed and looking for some sweatpants. He thanked her for calling and hung up. Elizabeth was wide awake then too, noting his frantic pacing.

“Where are you going?”

“To the airport...?” 

She looked shocked.

“She said he was alright – that they were just keeping him in for observation... I don’t see why -”

“I see why, and I'm going, this isn’t a discussion.”

That stunned her and she rolled her eyes. 

“Fine, I’ll grab my things and come with you -” she moved to get up and he froze on the spot.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re not.” 

“And why the hell not?”

It was his turn then to roll his eyes, he really wasn’t in the mood for her need for validation. 

“Because they called me. Because it’s pointless for us both to go and it’s late, or early... no one is with the kids, are we just gonna drag them out of bed for this too?”

“I’ll call the nanny, she’ll -”

“Elizabeth, I'm going alone, end of discussion.”

He knew it would set her off, but like most things since Tim left, he found he didn’t care. She whisper-yelled at him about how he was being a pain in her ass, and how selfish he was just dropping everything for some little incident – he could have responded with something equally as tedious on her end of things, but again found, he had no desire to argue with her because he simply didn’t care what she thought. He had one thought in mind and it wasn’t her.

It was him.

“Look, I'll call when I get there.”  he added, grabbing his duffel that he’d stuffed a few necessities in, grabbing his wallet and keys.

“Don’t bother. I’m taking the kids to an event in the morning, we’ll be busy.”

He fought with himself to respond. But he checked his watch, he’d need to book it to the airport to get there before the morning.

He simply shrugged it off and walked out the door. All the while just hoping that Timmy was really okay.

***********


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospitals, heart monitors being tattle tale, and a desire to fight for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG LOVE TO EVERYONE WHO HAS COMMENTED! I don't know what you think unless you tell me so <3\. I hope you enjoy the ending of this little bit of mess fictional nonsense, all 5+k of it. It ends on a beginning of sorts, so while I'm not sure where it's going, I'm not against popping in to see how these guys are getting on at some point, if inspo hits me.
> 
> For now, tuck in and let me know if you liked it over all! <3

He’s not fully sure just how he got to San Francisco, but he did, just as the sun was starting to rise. He checked his watch as he got to the ward, it was just after 5.30am. The past four hours had been a blur, most of which involved more lingering around the airport waiting for the next flight. But he was there, and sitting outside Timmy’s room was a woman he didn’t recognize but who seemed to know him. Stopping him from going to the nurse's station to ask questions. 

“Armie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m Celia’s PA, Kelly.” 

“Shit, you got stuck with waiting?”  

She smiled. 

“It’s totally fine, I’m leveling up on my Candy Crush.” she waved her phone, before walking them down the hall with a smile to the nurses. “He’s family.”  

They nodded in acceptance and it made his heart swell.  

Family. 

“No one expected you tonight, if we’re being honest, but since you’re here I can fill you in.”  

And she did, in very meticulous detail. Tim had lost too much weight for his frame, his body had gone into starvation mode, and he developed a lung and chest infection he’d ignored, teamed with the stress of filming while starving, and an eight-hour shoot under a fucking rain machine, his body had gone into shock and he’d developed pneumonia.   

Armie wanted to kick Felix’s ass up and down the Warf. 

“Jesus Christ.” he muttered sitting next to her then, his tiredness hitting him. 

“He’s tough though, and he basically was trying to shoo us all away from admitting him, and this was after he’d collapsed. It was Steve that forced him here, he left a few hours ago.” 

Steve was a good man, his ass he wouldn’t kick. 

“Can I …?” he nodded to the room. 

“Oh yeah sure... I guess since you’re here …" yeah she was bored.  

“Totally take off, go get some sleep... thank you. And thanks for … waiting.”  

She smiled softly. She was a nice girl, maybe Timmy’s age or a little over, short and pale – though Armie’s perspective on people’s height was always skewed since everyone was ‘short’ to him... she had crazy rainbow hair and a sleeve of equally colorful tattoos. He liked her. 

When he got into the darkened room, he was relived to find Tim the only person in it. As it was a busy hospital, he wasn’t sure but he was glad they’d sprung for a private ward. He was small looking lying there, he was hooked up to what Armie saw was an antibiotic and a drip for hydration. He was wheezing too though and there was a heart monitor attached. Which made his suspicious as to just how bad his collapse had been and what had been affected by losing so much weight for an already skinny guy. 

He took the seat beside the bed, dumping his duffle at his feet. Trying to make no noise for fear of waking him. Instead he just looked, he was so pale, and for Tim who was already so ghost like in complexion, it scared Armie that he blended in with the sheets. Save his wild curls crowning the pillow, curls he fought the urge to touch. He had no right to touch after how things ended with them.  

Instead he stewed in worry for all of fifteen minutes before his eyes felt too heavy to stay open. So, he propped himself up on the seat, his feet on his duffle, and due to years of flying long-haul he attempted ot get some shut eye. 

It must have worked because the next thing he realises is the room is brighter – the blinds still shut but a strong sunshine fighting to peek though, and Timmy is awake and looking right at him. 

Confused as fuck. 

&&&&&&&& 

His throat was dry as hell on a hot day, and his eyes felt gross, but he was sure he was seeing Armie sleeping on the chair next to his bed. 

“Hey.” what he was sure was a mirage spoke. He was pretty sure they weren’t meant to speak? 

“What are you doing here?” 

“They called me … you … I mean I was your contact in California and -” 

Right. He had put down Armie’s name on a whim, not thinking anyone would need to be contacted for anything. How shit wrong had he been... 

“You’re here? How are you here?” 

Armie shrugged before looking at Timmy’s face with what looked like tears in his eyes. Fuck, Timmy thought, he wasn’t strong enough for this right then.      

“I needed to see for myself that you were okay...” he swallowed hard, scooting his chair closer. “So far I'm not okay with what I'm seeing, dude.” 

Tim nodded, knowing he’d fucked up. 

“Pneumonia? Why didn’t you tell someone you felt sick?” 

He shrugged and moved to sit up and that struck panic in Armie’s eyes enough that he was sitting next to him on the bed in seconds. 

“No no, lay back down, come on please?” 

He gave in. Everything still hurt like a motherfucker so the notion of fighting him wasn’t a strong one. What he wasn’t expecting was Armie to take his hand. He looked down at where they joined and sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” he all but croaked. “But I was feeling like shit for so long that it just became normal?” 

Armie closed his eyes. 

“I’m gonna kick Felix’s ass SO hard he’ll feel it next year.” Tim squeezed his hand, warm and huge as always. 

“Nah it was me, I wanted it to … feel real.” 

“To the point of this?” he motioned around the room. Bashfully, Tim just shrugged again. No real come back. 

For a few seconds Tim just let himself revel in the heat of the hand holding, the quiet reassurance of just his giant presence seated at his knees.  

“I was so fuckin’ worried, Timmy.” Armie confessed.  

“I’m -” 

“Don’t say sorry, it’s me that should be sorry.” 

“You didn’t fuck up my lungs, Armie.” Honestly. 

“No, but I fucked up.” he sighed, sniffling a little. “I _fucked up_.” he reiterated strongly this time, eyeballing Tim. “I know I said I didn’t wanna hurt you and I don’t... but this past few weeks has been nothing _but_ hurt – it fuckin’ sucks.” 

That made Tim laugh, because honestly? Same. 

“Yeah you’re tellin’ me. So many times, I wanted to call, to just talk shit, to catch up … to hear your voice. See your face.” Why was he suddenly feeling bashful? 

“Yeah. I … I ... every time I'd see something, you’d find funny I'd kick myself because I … I …" he sighed. He was clearly struggling, and probably sleep deprived. But he never let go of Tim’s hand, and he can’t say he minded. 

“Use your words Armie.” 

That got an incredulous look, “Fuck you. There’s two words.” 

“Actually, that’s _five_ ,” he snipped back, making him laugh – finally.  

“For a guy as smart and as articulate as you are, you really can be a dumbass sometimes.” that earned him a hand squeeze and an almost hurt look. 

“Hey!” 

“Sorry... _uh_... it’s the _meds_.” 

Armie just rolled his fucking eyes, because really. 

“You're on antibiotics and a drip?” he deadpanned. 

“Oh.” Tim whispered. Before smiling. “Right.” 

“You’re a little shit.” 

“Yeah...” he agreed and there it was again that thing that happened, they shot the shit, made each other laugh but then they’d look at each other and the chemistry between them became almost tangible.  

 

*** 

Timmy let go of his hand then, but didn’t stray far, instead he took to running his fingers along Armie’s, down through his palms, up to his wrists. Knowing how good it felt, but how innocent it looked, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Armie transfixed, his breathing slow, his eyes hooded, just watching. Timmy loved his hands, they were so different from his own. 

“I got caveman hands...” he whispered but it made Tim smile. 

“I know, I love them.” 

That got a mocking sound from his guy. 

“Shut up I do.” and he continued to trace his veins, ghost his pale, much more delicate fingers over the light fur of blond hair there. Both of them were breathing in-sync, a fact not lost on Tim. The room was so quiet, the happy sigh from Armie filled the space, so Tim kept going, with more and more light touches. 

“This is hot...” Armie whispered making him laugh. Before he leaned in to try and kiss him, which he really wasn’t expecting, and forgetting he had a heart monitor on that busted just how he felt about these events. 

Armie leaned back, a shocked look on his face as the high rated beeping continued. Then he smiled. “I did that?” 

Feeling the blush in his cheeks at being outted by his own goddamn HEART, Timmy just shrugged.  

“Pretty much always, yeah.” 

The smile on Armie’s face was one he wanted to see always. The one that reached his eyes, and crinkled them a little. But before he could lean in again a nurse appeared. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked before moving to his monitor, checking, then checking his drips. 

“Yeah just ...some juicy gossip. Sorry, my bad.” Armie confessed making her laugh.  

“No more gossip, you should get some rest, Timothée.” She propped his pillows behind him.  

“She’s right, I should go... let you sleep -” 

Puppy eyes might work, but in company all he could do was grip Armie’s hand again.  

“Please, just a little while longer?” 

Both men look at the woman in charge. 

“Fine, we’re bringing breakfast in fifteen minutes, after that -” 

“Absolutely, thank you.” Armie agreed. 

When they are alone again, Armie settles for kissing his hands.  

“I love your hands too.” Before moving back to his chair, leaving a pouting Timmy looking sad. 

“Don’t do that, you know it’s for the best. Which by the way, why’d they need a monitor?” 

Shame face again. 

“The um... starving … the … you know it kinda affected my heart. It's why I passed out in the first place.” 

“Jesus Christ, Tim!” 

“I know, but it’s fine _really_.”  

Incredulously, he took it at face value. 

“It’s just precaution. They even said, a day or so and I could leave maybe even tomorrow, just gotta pump me full-a anti-biotics first, I guess.” he glanced at the bags he was hooked up to. Armie didn’t know if he should believe him or not, but he just took it all in. In his tired state Tim could tell him the sky was purple and he’d buy it. Tim was rambling about how it had happened, when the nurse arrived, a small plate of toast and a small plate with what looked like a mass-produced scrambled egg. Armie wondered how much actual egg was in that thing?  

“Visiting hours are up … technically you shouldn’t be here at all until 2pm.” she smirked.  

“Sorry, again.” 

“It’s fine, if everyone was as silent as you, we’d have no issues. But the doctor is coming in a bit to give Timothee a once over and -” 

Armie nodded not wanting to test the waters. 

“Thanks again for letting me hang here.”  

She smiled. She was about his mom’s age but aging naturally, her brown hair a bun on top of her head, her soft brown eyes seemed kind. 

“Eat. Leave.” she nodded to Tim and then to Armie before leaving herself. 

Armie sighed, standing to stuff his hands in his pockets. 

“I really should go get some sleep -” 

“Go back to my hotel?” Tim offered simultaneously.  

“Huh?”  

“The room … the production has paid for it until the end of the week, all my shit is still there -” he attempted to lean over, there was a bag under the bed, but Armie stopped him before he ripped the drips out of his arm. 

“Here...” he added, lifting the bag for him. Tim rooted around finding his phone, firstly, but then the room card. 

“Seriously, you should - I mean … I want you to.” Again, puppy eyes went far, particularly when he was looking this small and pale. 

“Okay, I will. But I'll be back later, and I'll bring you some real food. Text me okay?” 

He nodded as he handed him the key card, fingers brushing fingers as he did so deliberately. If Armie had been the one hooked up to the monitor just then, it would have been his heart giving him away. 

It took everything not to lean down and kiss him, but to wave, and walk out the door.  

He almost fell asleep in the cab to the hotel. 

********************** 

Timmy did rest, or he tried to, he figured passing out didn’t count as real sleep, but as it stood, he had managed the soft breakfast, and was attempting to watching things on YouTube on his phone when the next thing he knew he woke up and it was darker outside, and a producer, his director and a doctor were talking to each other in whispered tones. 

“Ah, there he is.” Felix exclaimed happily. “Good news Timothée, they tell us all is well, all is good, no permanent damage done.” what followed was a twenty-minute lecture on the dangers of extreme dieting, the promise of talking to a dietitian and a therapist in the next month, but with the promise of release. 

“No, I’m not alone, I … have a friend with me in the city, he’s back at the hotel it’s totally fine.” 

Sceptical, but whatever, he was an adult. After a much-needed shower, a very, very long FaceTime with his mom and sister, he was feeling more like himself again.  

********************************** 

The room in the hotel was huge, even by California standards, even on an ‘indie’ budget. It was neatly, freshly made up, with Tim’s things hanging in the closet, or folded neatly on the chair. Sending off a quick, but annoyed text to his wife to ensure her if she even cared that Tim was on the mend, and that he was staying – an opened ended on when he’d be back because he wasn’t sure when he could tear himself away, and two, he already knew unless he was needed for an event, she would only half care. So, if he grabbed one of Tim’s sweaters that smelled like him, and all but face planted on the big bed? Well, that was his own business. 

He woke up with a crick in his neck, and it was dark outside. 

He sighed to himself, before checking his phone. 

A simple but hilarious selfie of Tim awaited him. With the caption ‘FEED ME’ across it.  

It made him laugh, and for the first time in weeks, he was glad to have that line of communication back again. He had miss it, and him so fucking much.  

A quick shower and change of sweater later, he had called in a giant Chinese takeaway before hopping in an Uber. He brought enough for the nurse's station too, in the hopes that hot greasy food would win him over. 

A smile and a wave fifteen minutes later, he was right. No one was gonna turn down good food. 

“You know the charming I had to do to get his?” he added as they were gifted REAL plates and forks from the nurses to eat. “You’re meant to start slow, by the way, so just take your time okay?” 

“Yes, Mom.” Timmy sassed but Armie just threw chop sticks at him.  

“Shut up or I’mma take the last spring roll.” 

“No! Armiiie, I’m _sick_.” Pout. The little shit. 

“Mmmhmm,” If he threw that at his plate with precise precision, well, hey. 

They ate in relative comfortable silent, Timmy and his small bites, and lots of water, Armie, as per usual inhaling his food. The TV on in the background helped, the news was on and as always helped to put their situation and themselves into small perspective. But it was nice, and stress free, and as it always was when they were avoiding reality. But as always, Timothée was braver than him in every way. 

“At some point vegetables _and_ fruit are gonna have to be a thing, and not just grease.” 

“But such _good_ grease...” Timmy smiled, lying back with a satisfied smile. They’d discussed his diagnoses, and the fact that the morning was looking like when he’d gain his freedom. It was just another elephant in the room now.  

“Hey Armie,” Timmy began, as Armie was cleaning up the boxes and the plates. “Look.”  

He did. 

“No heart monitors.” with a cheeky grin and an eyebrow wriggle it made Armie laugh out loud. 

He just shook his head and took the trash out of the room, thanking the nurses for the plates as they thanked him for the food. He’d earned them a good rep that’s for sure. When he got back to the room, Timmy was on the phone. 

“No, mom it’s fine. Armie’s here now, we ate a LOT … it’s fine. I promise, no, _no_...” he rolled his eyes at Armie making him smile. “You don’t need to fly out, no Ma -” Armie held out his hand, and in the hopes that his charm that won around the nurses could also win around Tim’s mom too. 

Ten minutes on the phone proved him right, pacifying her to the point where she wouldn’t worry about her only son on the opposite end of the country, wasn’t easy. But by the time that she hung up, she was laughing.  

Job done. 

Armie made him a promise, that they’d hang out that evening, and talk about anything but themselves. He knew he needed to have _the_ conversation, but he also needed Timmy to rest as much as possible, and he knew that a hospital wasn’t the place to have this type of conversation. Annoyed as Tim was, he was more mature than he was in so many ways, so he agreed. And, all in all they had that type of evening they’d had back in Crema, before things went too far down that particular road. The undercurrent of attraction always buzzing underneath, of course. But, with the promise of time and a real chat waiting in the wings, it seemed like there was a breath of fresh air among them. When he left that night Armie went back to the Timmy sweater, the giant bed, and slept better than he had in months. 

*********** 

It seemed to take forever, getting from the hospital to the hotel, all he wanted to do was be real, be himself with Armie, have the much-needed Conversation. But between goodbyes’ and traffic, he was already exhausted by the time they got to his room. So NOT what he’d planned when he was finally alone in a room with this man, no distractions, and a giant lock on the giant door. 

No, his body that he’d so mistreated was now paying him back. He needed to lay down as soon as they got in, and not in a sexy way either. 

Stupid lungs. 

“I’m sorry I’m so tired, and we didn’t even do anything.” he attempted, kicking off his sneakers, shimmying out of his sweatpants and making Armie, who was standing by the door, laugh. 

“What I was cold.” Tim reasoned, because he just dressed over his sleep pants, layered up.  

“You’re something else. Snuggle in, dude. I’mma order us some food.” 

“More food?!” 

“Yes.” was all he heard before he got smacked with a menu. “Pick something, I gotta piss.” 

He just shook his head and glanced at the menu, not that there was much point. He knew Armie wanted steak and he would probably get the same. And he’d probably force him to eat vegetables too, ugh. 

Tim wasn’t sure how it happened but he must have dozed off almost instantly, he was still so weak if he was being honest, and the big hotel bed was just that comfortable. He must have slept because he woke up to Armie next to him, just sorta gazing?? At him?? That was a thing Armie did now, and if Tim was being honest it made his heart skip to think of it.  

Not the best action in his current state, granted, but hey, the heart wants what it wants. 

*** 

“Hey.” Armie smiled, all warm and soft, the sun filling the room and him with a glow Timmy wasn’t prepared for. 

“Hey did I …" 

“You’ve been out for over two hours, dude.” 

Shit! 

“The food...”  

Armie smiled.  

“I got us snacks for now, and I can order in a minute. I wanted to wait for you to wake up.” 

“You should have just -” 

“You need your rest.” he added, the authority in his voice unquestionable. Sighing Timmy nodded, noticing again just how close they were, laying on the bed together. Except that he was wrapped like a taco in the quilt and Armie had none. 

That didn’t seem fair, so he moved the quilt so it draped over the bigger man. It made Armie laugh and reach up his hands into Tim’s hair, and next to kissing and sucking his dick, this was Tim’s favourite thing that Armie did to him. 

He petted his hair, out of his eyes at first, but then he kept doing it and oh, it felt so nice. The sensation must have registered on his face as pleasure because Armie smiled and kept it up.  

“I love your curls, you know that?” 

“Mmm,” was all he could manage.  

“Mmm,” Armie mocked him. “You like this?” 

“Very much.” he added forcing himself to open his eyes to see conflict in the bright blues of the guy next to him. 

“Tim, God...I wanna promise you so much and mean it. Mean every word. You deserve promises kept... But it’s so complicated, it’s not just a onetime -” 

“I know -” 

“No, it’s … there’s it won’t be easy or right away she has …. there’s business and, fuck me, it’s not as simple as just walking away. And I know how that sounds, I do... It sounds like an asshole trying his luck but that’s not what I want here. It’s just not easy.” 

“I never expected it would be.” 

“But I _want_ this too, I want -” his eyes were glassy and it kicked Tim in the gut to watch him wrestle with whatever was going on inside him. So, he scooted closer, gently caressing his face, because he could, because he wanted to. Feeling the stubble there, against his hot skin just lit something inside him as always. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you.” He whispered like it was still their secret. Which, he guessed it still was. “Yes. Us. And I should have said it before and I shouldn't have let this past three weeks be as fuck awful as they were.” He sighed leaning into Tim’s touch, so soft and unsure. “But right now, I'm not sure what it looks like – six months a year down the line will you still want me if … you can’t have me _completely_ just yet?” 

Tim was so tired of fighting the internal battle that was etched all over Armie’s face. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what he was getting into, and the thought that Armie feels guilt over any of it, kills him. So instead he tried to reassure him, a kiss first on the lips, then on the cheek, then on the nose, making him smile. Before he grabbed his hand and interlocked it with his own. The size difference always making his tummy flutter. 

“I knew exactly who you were when I fell in love with you, Armie. I don’t expect you to just be someone else because you’ve now realised you have feelings too.” 

Love.  

That word again. 

 He never used it so freely before and he knew it scared Armie. To say something so bold, so soon, when things between them were so very unstable. But it was how he felt, and as a person raised how he was, as an actor, as a man, he spoke his emotions as much as he used them for his job. And loving Armie was the easiest thing in the world, the most obvious, like breathing air, it was just something he did without trying. 

Though, with his lungs being how they currently were, the trying thing was real. 

But loving that guy? Never a chore. 

“And who am I? Because hell if I know.” He added, bitterly biting back his tears, but in vain as they fell anyway. 

“You are an,” Tim punctuated each compliment with a kiss to his face, much like the map before, lips, cheeks, nose, eyelids. “amazing, kind, beautiful, delicate soul.” 

Armie was just silently crying then, and he felt like he shouldn’t, because that was his ingrained instinct. But this was just so much, and he felt that feeling of Crema, safe, warm, accepted. So, he let the tears fall where they may. The look on Tim’s face was one without judgement.          

“No one’s ever described me as delicate before. Bull in a china shop maybe...” he tried to laugh off but Timmy all but pounced on him, pushing him back against the pillows as he straddled him. 

“No,” he forced, “they just weren’t looking in the right places.” 

“Like where?” 

  Still straddling him he leaned back and playfully motioned to his face, as if he was lifting off a mask. It made Armie laugh through his tears. 

“Behind this. So carefully etched in place no one thinks to look behind it.” 

“You did. Luca did,” he whispered.  

Tim nodded then moving to all but head smash into his chest. 

“We knew what we were looking for because we have masks too...” he whispered back before moving to kiss him as passionately as his lungs would allow. Feeling his hands creep up Tim’s back, taking up all the space, caressing him, before doing it up and down before grabbing his butt mid-kiss. And it was simple and beautiful and horny as fuck because all they both wanted to do was get lost in the other, and for a time they did. Kisses and bites, fumbles and hair pulling all to get better access at neck veins or collarbones.  

By the time Armie pulled him back by his hair they were both a glassy eyed, panting mess.  

 “Okay... Okay, we need to stop.”  

Tim pouted. Making Armie just rolled his eyes. 

“But you’re sick and you need -” 

“ Nnn-gh. I need _you_ right now, just this and you and -” 

“Oxygen, _Timothée_.”  

He stalled then, burying his face in that amazing smelling neck, as Armie ghosted his hands up his back. 

“Gon’ nap on my neck, huh?” 

“Thinking about it.” came the muffled reply, making Armie giggle. 

“Not complaining just that whole oxygen thing -” 

He pulled away with a pout, again, not caring how childish he looked – they were finally having fun and finally making out. Did Armie not know how many months it had been since Crema, was he not craving it too.  

As if he read his mind, Armie moved over Timmy on the bed, hovering over him like a giant. But still not touching. 

“I know you’re …. frustrated. I am too I want this -” he added delicately trailing his hand down Tim’s neck. “but you need to get well, I promised your mother I'd make you feel better.” 

Timmy smiled but Armie cut him off with a quick kiss. 

“And that doesn’t mean with sex.” 

His smiled disappeared. 

“At least not yet anyway.” 

When they were side by side again, Timmy took the opportunity to snuggle into Armie again.  

“How long do I have you for?” he whispered. 

“Few days if you want me... I  gotta go back to LA to pack for Canada, but -” 

“A few days is good...” 

“You could come with me.” 

“I can’t go back to staying with -” 

“No, I mean, to Canada? I’m shooting for two weeks before we move it to Washington for exteriors... I mean you could -”  

The idea of two whole weeks...  

“She’s not -”  

He shook his head. No. 

“I mean we’ve wrapped, I’m pretty free until _we_ start press... I … _could_. _Hypothetically_.”  

“Well, _literally_... would you?” 

He nodded. Of course, he would.  

“We've got time. After this it’ll be a bit of an absence, but when press kicks off... you’ll get real sick of me.” Tim admitted, this time enjoying stroking the other man’s hair, loving watching how his eyes closed slowly at the sensation. 

“Never.” 

“You won’t be saying that after a thousand flights and interviews.” 

Armie smiled then.  

“I think we’ll have fun.” he wiggled his brows. Armie kissed him then and just sank into it, it took every ounce of self-control now to just land on him and grind out his frustrations. Timmy pulling him closer too made it hard – rather harder. So-to-speak. 

“We really doing this?” he asked, pulling back and looking into the beautiful eyes of the younger man he held fully dressed in his arms, under a very cosy quilt. 

“We’ll figure it out, whatever it is, I just ... don’t wanna go back to what it was before, the lying to ourselves? That was -”  

“Hell.” Armie added, with a nod. “Because I love you too, and I...” 

Tim just put his hand over Armie’s mouth then. 

“You really gonna just skate past that little confession huh?” he cocked a brow, making his guy laugh behind his hand. 

“Oh _that_.” he tried to bite back a smile but couldn’t. It felt too good to say it out loud, too good to just lay there and be loved. 

“Oh... that.” he mocked. 

“I do love you, and I’m terrified by what that means … but I'm not terrified of us.” 

“For now, that’s enough, that’s all we need, the desire to move forward.” It would forever baffle Armie how this guy was as mature, as wise as he was. So willing and patient with his bullshit, over and over, and now this. Proving that he didn’t have to have everything worked out right that second, that important things take time and they had it. Timmy was gifting him with love and time to figure his shit out, he couldn’t ask for anything else. 

“For now.” He nodded, letting him know there was a timeline, still.  

“We’ll figure it out, however long it takes. We’ve got time.” 

As they snuggled into each other, all worries melting away if only for those few hours. They had the time and they’d use it wisely. It wouldn’t be easy but for the first time in a long time, Armie felt that fight spark alive inside him, he was willing to fight for this.  

For himself, finally. 

 


End file.
